


Beginning Again

by Rinichey



Category: Monster Prom (Visual Novel)
Genre: Gore, Isolation, L4D AU, Made by JunjoMonstah, Other, Smoker!Brian, Survival, Vomit, becoming infected, forgetting oneself, mental breakdowns, trying to find hope in a struggling world, witch!Liam
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-06-14
Updated: 2019-06-20
Packaged: 2020-05-12 00:03:29
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 2
Words: 7,524
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/19217539
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Rinichey/pseuds/Rinichey
Summary: Three weeks have passed since Prom night when the Green Flu infected Monstropolis and created a waking nightmare. Hope is hard to find these days as everyone struggles to survive for their own reasons. But everyone has a timer on when their luck will run out.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Hello hello! This was a quick one-shot I wrote for Junjomonstah's Left 4 Dead AU! I absolutely love the world and what they've cooked up for it so far, so I wanted to give back by writing my own little excerpt on how I believe Liam became a witch. If you're unfamiliar with the au, please check out their twitter to see more! 
> 
> https://twitter.com/Junjomonstah?lang=en
> 
> This is really out of my comfort zone for what I usually write, but I hope I did the L4D world justice. >:3 Please give a kudo and comment if you like it!

The air was permeated by the lingering, heavy stench of death.

Glass crunched under their shoes but him, keeping his sufficiently new shoes clean and unused. Various sources of light touched walls and crawled on the floor to guide their way through the abandoned hospital halls. Every door had large claw marks, busted and pushed further in than the hinges could go. Pills were scattered amongst the debris and filth and dried blood splattered the walls where corpses sagged. A place of life had quickly succumbed to a grave cemetery.

Three weeks. This had been their lives for three weeks ever since that haunting day when their entire world came crashing down. Back then, they were young and unafraid with silly antics ruling their everyday lives. Now … the only thing they were was afraid.

“Anything?” A gruff voice asked from the back. He turned to Coach, his usual white gym shirt discolored and blotchy with various bodily fluids. His long pants had been ripped in half to tie around his forehead, leaving his cut and matted paws free to move around. Never had he thought he’d see a submachine gun in his hands, but then again, what was normal was now a fantasy that they all strived for. Perhaps him the most.

“It’s all tainted.” Vicky was the next to speak up, her flashlight scouring the ground more than anyone. He remembered her making light complaints about her frizzy hair when getting ready for school back in those golden days, knowing she was sorely missing it with how short it’d been crudely cut with a dull knife. It nearly reached her ears with only a thin line of her signature white left. Her clothes were in much disarray, hefting a backpack along with pump shotgun in hand. Her flashlight did more pointing than it, for now, minding her step to avoid the glass.

Oz was staying quiet, had been since that fateful night. If he did talk it was out of necessity, with sunken eyes that never seemed to brighten. The baseball bat in his hand carried much weight that burdened his shoulders to always sag. It must have been the several blotches of blood on the end.

“Liam? See anything?” Then light the shined on him, squinting and holding an arm up.

Even with his ability to float in the air, he had not been spared the disgusting state they were in. His oily hair had been slicked back and tied up with string, his bowtie snapped and hanging uselessly from his neck. He was the only one of the group to not need a flashlight, the night his natural element. But like them all, the M1911 pistol in hand was a far greater weight than anything he’d carried so far.

“Like you said. It’s tainted.” He lowered himself enough to roll an empty medicine bottle away from a former nurse’s hand.

“There’s gotta be a supply somewhere. It’s a hospital; they’re all about safety!” Coach’s voice rose with his exasperation. He stooped down to pick up a bottle, giving it a good shake and hearing nothing.

While Oz poked the wall with his bat and Vicky checked the pocket of a corpse, he floated over to a torn open cabinet, pulling one door to empty shelves. “I’m guessing we’re one of the last survivors to come through here.”

A soft whimper came from Oz, drawing the attention of the others. His bat shook with his shoulders, fresh tears welling in his eyes. “I-I can’t do this anymore …”

“Ozzie,” Vicky started, moving over with a comforting hug as Oz’s sobs grew louder. “We’ll make it. Things’ll be okay.”

“They’re not.” A louder sob choked the air, his head hastily ducking into his chest. “Th-they’re all gone! P-Polly … Brian … e-even Damien …”

Liam tried not to think about their real shock into this new world upon finding the first of their friends already savage. He’d never seen Polly walk, her milky white eyes clouded and confused before turning to anger when she saw them. Walls could not protect them from her wrath, with gunshots still ringing in his ears and begging screams to make her stop.

How foolish.

“It’s gonna be alright, champ.” Coach nestled his weapon between one arm, moving over to offer sympathetic pats on Oz’s back. “There’s still Vera’s team! And we haven’t found Brian or Damien yet. They could still be out there.”

“No, no …” Oz just shook his head. “They’re probably infected. It-it’s just a timing game now on when we’ll be next.”

The air grew staler and heavier, with a look of mixed concern on everyone’s faces. He let the foul mood sit for a moment and then promptly turned to the hall. “We need to keep moving.”

“I think we’re going to sit this out for a little.” Coach continued to pat Oz, who had taken to burying his face into his large chest. “You two go on ahead.” He unclipped his radio and shook it, with Vicky brushing her hand over hers.

With a solid nod, she caught up with Liam as they continued onward. Liam tried to focus on anything but Oz’s miserable weeping, back itching for a proper shower and a space to collect his thoughts. His old apartment and pieces; maybe a fresh bottle of blood that wasn’t old and sitting in a corpse. His sublime bed; with Miranda, Polly, Scott, and Damien all waiting for him asking teasingly when game night would start.

How foolish.

They rounded the crowded hall to even more corpses and flickering lights. Shadows raved on one particular mermaid whose face had caved inward with an arm missing. Vicky only gave it a mildly concerned stare and stepped over the hunched body, with him following suit. The pink hue of her skin unnerved him, thankful no crown was nearby.

Death shouldn’t have affected him, seeing as he was undead. But cruel, suffering death and mauled corpses plagued his nightmares every morning when they rested. It never stopped being a nightmare no matter how many bodies he came across.

“Poor Ozzie,” Vicky kept her voice low, catching his attention as each step announced their presence to any lurking infected. “Somedays I wake up and look over to see if he’s disappeared.”

“He could, theoretically,” He could see her mood shift for the worse, clutching her shotgun tighter. “I’m surprised he’s kept up for so long.”

“What else is there to do?” She stepped over another body dressed in scrubs, the light of her flashlight scanning every inch that her feet touched. “It’s all we can do.”

“Is it?” He floated in front of her, stopping her from continuing. Instead, she turned either way and noticed an untouched door, making her way over. He scanned the halls, pistol close to his chest. The cool metal burned icier than his skin. “No offense, but I’m hardly convinced we’ll be the saviors of the world.”

“Someone will find a cure. Or—or we could find someplace safe.” Crouching, he idly watched her secure a small lock-picking kit she’d picked up from one of her pockets, getting to work cracking the door.

“And if there isn’t?” He quirked an eyebrow, checking either side of the hall. The flickering lights hurt his eyes and the back of his skull and glanced away. “Are we just expected to give up on our friends? On Polina?”

“Why are you asking me?” Vicky turned away for a second, hands stilling. “I didn’t want that either! But we can’t do anything to help. We have to help ourselves first before we can help others.”

The soft clicks resumed but her answer wasn’t satisfactory. He ran a hand through his disgusting hair. “It’s hard for me too, Vicky. Day in and day out, nothing but misery and suffering from memories of a reality that is too forgone to ever return.”

A loud click took their attention, Vicky trying the handle as the door swung open. She stuffed her tools away, gun up as her light lead the way. A recipe for panic stewed inside his chest, having to push it down and try to forget as he followed in. There was no time for panic; never was.

The room was practically untouched. Dust lined the examination table with a jar full of q-tips and tongue depressors still waiting peacefully on a small desk. Vicky went straight for the cabinets, able to swiftly open them. “Yes! Found some stuff.”

Rattling pills and bottles occupied Vicky’s attention as Liam still guarded the door. Reflection was where he found himself on most days. “All the infected, all the corpses … they used to be someone. I can’t imagine what goes through their unthinking minds.” He sneered, the primal rage of Polly’s face forever burned in his memory. “Filthy animals.”

“It’s hard not to think that.” He glanced over his shoulder when he heard the rustle of Vicky’s backpack. It clung to one arm as she used the other to stuff whatever she found into it. “But I think there’s still some humanity left in them. Some part of their mind that is just … sleeping.”

She walked back over as his glower turned to her. Her gaze was bittersweet but hopeful. “They’re not coming back, Victoria. Oz was right; it’s simply a ticking clock on when we’ll be next.”

He hated squashing the decreasing dim in her eyes, who moved to walk out of the room silently. It was for the best, closing the door behind them.

A sudden gasp and a scream had him whip out his gun, arms straight at the intruder. A couple infected, one satyr and slime creature, were upon them, arms raised and mouths hissing. The slime darted for him as Vicky clumsily stepped back, unloading some of her bullets into the satyr with the familiar _ka-chink_ of her gun whenever shells dropped. Blood splattered the slime as the satyr fell backward, leaving him to fire his pistol multiple times into the slime. His mind grew frantic at the stopped bullets in its chest, snarling and reaching for his arm.

“Stop it!” A piece of pipe speared through its back and out of its front, with Vicky letting go when nothing happened.

It turned to her with glowing white eyes just in time for Liam to grab her hand. “Run!”

He flew down the halls with Vicky running in tow, their loud escape echoing down the halls. The slime rushed at them with the pipe still embedded in its chest, Liam turning back to see if he would catch up when another horrendous sound snapped his head back.

Vicky’s flashlight beat him to the discovery, witnessing a large, bulging centaur turn its attention to them. Dried vomit caked its chin and chest, cheeks puffing up. “Boomer!”

There wasn’t enough time for both of them to escape the radius of the vomit. Snatching Vicky in his arms, he tossed her up and over the Boomer’s body just as the spray of vomit came down. He held his arms up as the acidic sprinkles covered him, eyes burning with a loud cry.

“Liam!” Several gunshots and piercing screams rang out as he tried to regain his senses, rubbing eyes that only burned further with his coated hands.

A gross pop and a hot wave of something foul sprayed his leg. His eyes finally opened to a world of green, eyes red from the perpetual sting. He hastily removed his glasses to the slime that advanced, screaming when Vicky ran forward with a severed arm in hand. “Snack on this!”

She plunged the arm straight into the slime, who paused momentarily with a clueless look. Bubbles formed around the arm as the slime shuffled back. Liam was at a loss as Vicky grabbed his arm. “Come on! We gotta move!”

Low moans suddenly filled the halls on either side as shuffling bodies started peering out of open doors. Vicky ripped her radio off, yelling. “Coach, Oz! We need backup, Liam’s been puked on!”

“No!” He pushed on her radio and nearly knocked it out of her hands. He’d never been puked on this heavily before, noticing a large amount of movement as he eyed the door they’d just come out of. “They want me. I’ll distract them and regroup with you later.”

“Absolutely not!” Vicky snatched his arm as his fear rose at her endangering herself. Only a little bit of bile was enough to attract a crowd.

He snagged her by the collar, holding her arm’s length out as he rushed back over to the empty room, tossing her inside. She flopped onto the table, about to slam the door shut when he heard her cry. “Promise you’ll come back!”

The moans were right in his ears, turning with a loud gasp as he slammed the door on her. The horde had arrived from either side, rushing him for any piece of flesh they could indulge on. He shot up for the ceiling, nearly losing a shoe before floating quickly down the halls to lure the crowd away. From past experience, they should leave Vicky alone.

“Liam!” His radio came alive, distracting him to pull it up and near his mouth. “We’ll meet you at the entrance! Shake those guys and we’ll all group up!”

“Roger,” Just like Vicky to get some sort of confirmation. He turned off his radio and clicked it back onto his pants, growing uneasy at how many infected were chasing after him. He could shake them, just as he’d been doing this entire time.

A stairwell waited up ahead, taking off in between the steps upwards while the horde watched in a huddled mass at the bottom. How foolish of them.

He aimed for the fifth floor, rising steadily with his next intention to find some water to rinse the foul stench away and an open window to escape through. The sudden growl and outcry snapped his head to the stairwell in time to notice a black figure crash into his chest.

His body was offset, shocked out of his flight as they both plummeted back downward. He reached an arm out to the ascending ceiling, screaming when the figure grabbed his arm and violently bit into the upper half.

The hands of his clock stopped.

Stunned, his body fell lifelessly into the horde as his world turned into a shambling mess of limbs and groans. Skin was scratched and snapped at, clothes were torn as his mind finally caught up. He pushed back desperately for an opening only to be met with more arms try to yank his limbs off. “Let go of me! Let go! _Stop_! _Stop it!_ ”

With a firm slam of his elbow into something, he managed to yank back his other arm and bolt upwards with a few infected holding on for dear life. He rammed his left leg into the staircase to lose the first passenger, followed by slamming his foot into the neck of the other. A firm snap back of his head had the lifeless body fall back below, where the rest of his former comrades now looked to him with hunger in their eyes.

He flew to the top and nearly hit his head on the ceiling, foot banging into the guardrail as his knees hit the ground. He let out a cry and got to his feet as he ran for the door. It jiggled and stayed stubborn until he pushed on it heavily, bending the door inward and letting him escape through. His arm trembled at the pulsating bite on his upper arm while his other hand shielded it.

The running of his legs was just like the running of his mind that downward spiraled at an alarming rate. He could almost feel the green flu spreading through his cold veins, infecting his mind and causing him to pant in hysteria.

Having never used his legs for such a thing, the burning pain finally caused him to collapse near a wall, fishing desperately for his radio. He clicked it on, voice as hysterical as his thoughts. “Vicky! Coach! Oz! I-I’ve been bit! What do I do?”

Static was his answer, silencing his voice for only a second until he tried again, shaking the thing. “No! Vicky? Vicky! Respond! Please! Please …”

More static. He twisted the knob off and set it back on his pants, curling up into a ball to try and rationalize the situation. The pain slowly morphed into itching, as though a mountain of fire ants were crawling into the bloodied wounds. His nails racked over it once and let out a pained cry as a result, placing his hand under him to stop it from scratching.

His head hit the back wall, trying to control his breathing. “Get to the safe house. Quarantine the bite. Look for a cure. Get to the safe house. Quarantine the bite. Look for a cure.” The simple orders started to ease some of his nerves, standing back up to look for a way out.

They must be waiting for him by the entrance now, knowing every second now was precious. He had no time frame as to when the infection took over the mind. For his sake, he hoped for weeks.

A random flash of light outside startled him back, tripping over something large and smacking his head on the cold ground. The world blacked out for multiple seconds, at least to him it was just seconds when his eyes widened, inhaling deeply for air that wasn’t needed.

He scrambled to his feet when he noticed the evening sky was now pitch black, pressing his hands against the glass to see further. Rain pelted against the window and made things harder to see, taking his hands away to jog away and back to the stairwell. He had no reference of time, paranoia driving his actions. “Vicky? Vicky!”

He frantically ran down the stairs, about to reach the bottom when stopped short of a familiar slime waiting near the edge. A large pipe was still stuck in its gut, eyeing Liam as he flinched, bringing his arms close to his body. No amount of fumbling produced his gun if he even still had it. “S-Stay away!”

It groaned for a moment only to turn and look elsewhere, shambling away. Its loss in interest in him sickened his stomach, hurrying down the last steps until he found an open restroom down the hall. He scurried in, the mirror useless as he fumbled with his buttons on his shirt. Each one aggravated him more, deciding with a frustrated grunt to rip it open.

Buttons clattered as he pulled down his right sleeve to eye his wound. Purple, blotchy spots were forming, with the wound creating fleshy bubbles that merely kept the wound open instead of closing them. He touched it tenderly only for a surge of itching to run up his arm, fingers twitching. His left hand closed around it, having enough self-discipline to not scratch even if he so desperately wanted to. He wanted to feel good, anything to stop the fearful buzzing in his head. A soft whine came from his throat at his predicament, wondering what he should do.

Vicky. She’d know what to do. She could help him.

Pulling back up the sleeve, he left the bathroom and continued to jog down the halls. Moans of many infected reached his ears from all around, yet any he came across didn’t bat an eye at him. Their compliance only frightened him more, clutching his wound tighter as he came upon the exit.

“Vicky! Oz!” He started shouted as he ran through the forced open doors. Even as the rain pelted his skin and made him blink, he still turned his head to scan and see if he could find any of his friends.

The distant thunder signified his isolation. Breathing turned into panting as both hands flew up to his shaking head, tugging it free of his string. “No, no! Vicky! _Vicky_! I’m here! Come back!”

He ran farther into the rain, voice trying to match the thunder. “Help me! Please! Help! _Help_ …!”

How foolish he was.

Lightning struck a nearby tree that a few shambling infected he hadn’t noticed took shelter under. Their faces were disfigured and pale, too close for comfort as his hands held himself.

His scream was deafening and scratched his throat, waiting for them to descend and eat his flesh. They flinched at his cry, momentarily stunned as he took the chance to run off further into the streets.

His mind buzzed and itched as much as his wound, softly scratching over it as he kept murmuring. “Get to the safe house. Quarantine the bite. Find Vicky… Get to the safe house. Quaran….Quarantine the bite… help… find help… help!”

Even when his legs ached to rest he still kept running, trying to find a place to hide and crawl away into. The safe house was a safe house if he could hide, noticing open doors coming out of a two-story building. The infected surrounding it made him bristle but he managed to sneak his way in towards one of the empty doors, past a desk and through another door.

He pressed it up against the doorframe when he entered into the darkened room, noticing a good corner to curl up into. With having found a resting place, he let his legs rest as he placed his back against the wall, curling his legs up and close to his chest.

He brushed back his loose hair, wondering how he hadn’t felt it before as he shivered from the cold that permeated the room. The frantic thoughts wouldn’t leave him alone, the isolation carving a deep wound in his chest that he couldn’t seem to fill. A few tears lined his eyes at the thought of forever staying here, alone and unloved with no one to acknowledge his existence. A few more fell down as his first of many sobs brought him into deep sorrow.

The tears kept coming the longer he cried, feeling emptier with every drop that plopped on his pants. He forgot where he was, who he was waiting on and why he was so sad, just that he was alone. So desperately alone. Was his life always like this? Was this … normal? He had no answer, and it continued his weeping.

Feet back-pedaling, he tried to push into the wall as much as possible, hoping to escape this reality for another. One where pleasant memories and blurred faces waited for him, for him to come to them and laugh.

Home.

“He-help …” It sounded strange on his tongue, but he knew no other way to convey his situation. Someone … anyone …

A strange gurgle and heavy steps pulled a gasp from him, snapping his head up to stare at a large undead not even a feet away. Its massive form easily towered over his with skin so green and missing chunks of flesh that he fit the description of infected. The right side of his face was covered in boils and welts, losing his eyesight to them as a long, slithering tongue stayed suspended in the air.

Its glowing, white eye peered down at him questionably, eliciting the only thing he knew how to do now. With dull, yellow eyes he wailed at the top of his lungs.


	2. Secrets Untold

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Wrote another one-shot for this! It takes place a few weeks after the first, so keep that in mind. We are also crossing over into some tidbits that might not be exactly canon with Left 4 Dead, so I am aware this might not be canonically accurate. But I'm going with what JunjoMonstah has created for her au and suffice to say this has been a blast to write. Please check out her au by following the link in the first chapter if you're curious!
> 
> With all that said, I hope you enjoy this odd fic! Please give it a kudo or a comment!

Nothing appealed more to him than the words scrawled so neatly in little rows on multiple pieces of paper. They were conveniently bound together too, making it easier to grab a few blocks of paper and enjoy a moment of peace when he could; flipping through each page and seeing what he could read.

Sometimes, it was about a monster doing things like ‘running’ or ‘working’ or ‘fighting’ things called ‘humans’. Other times, they were instructions like how to ‘build’ a ‘tree house’ or ‘invest’ in ‘stocks’. But his favorites were the long, big rectangles with pretty pictures. So vibrant and colorful, letting his cold fingers brush over each page as if he could feel their radiance.

He yearned for that same feeling.

A befuddled groan paused his happy thoughts, tilting his eyes up to a matching golden pair. They had been scrounging while that horrible light was asleep, able to make out the confused features of their hunter. He crouched before him, leaning over with hands placed on his knees whilst trying to get a look at his prize. Dried blood still caked his chin and discolored his canines from their last meal.

He angled his prize close to his chest, shaking his head in hopes of their hunter understanding. In return he was given an irritated stare and grunt, bloodied hands reaching out to take it. He pushed into his corner further and lifted one leg to push his foot against the hunter’s head. “No … mine!”

A lower grunt froze both, turning down the aisle of discarded blocks. A single white eye shone through the darkness, their smoker’s form large and intimidating as he stared down the two.

Their hunter relented, jabbing his foot into his mouth and lightly biting with a growl and backing off. From the look in his eyes, he was already bored, scouring up and over discarded shelves, silent as ever while on the prowl.

This had been his life for … forever. His mind was too murky to remember anything else, nor did he want to. Thinking back so far only brought a deep emptiness he couldn’t fill on his own, already frowning at the thought. No, no more bad thoughts. He was safe and happy now, staring over towards the lumbering zombie that came his way.

Hunter. Smoker. These were words he knew and didn’t know how he acquired them. It helped distinguish them in his mind, but now he had new titles for them. To him, they were his beta and alpha and he their little omega.

His alpha’s long tongue hung in the air, turning only as fast as his gait, which was very slow and careless. It was perpetually moist whenever he saw it out, watching it slither back behind closed lips. Just like their beta, he seemed perplexed as to what he was doing crouching on the ground, cocking his head with a murmured groan.

An innocent smile sprouted on his lips as he picked himself up and angled his prize towards his alpha. On the page were several people in a vibrant area filled with grass and trees. Small creatures stand by the lingering humans who wore stuffy clothing. Already, his alpha’s massive hand pawed at the page, making another odd noise as he simply nodded his head.

“G-girl …” He said it slow, pointing to the female in question that his fingers brushed over. “Umbre-ella …” He gestured to the accessory above her head, eyeing his alpha who still seemed unsure.

Shaking fist turned to a single finger as his alpha pointed to the yellow ball in the sky. He pointed next to it. “Sun. Light … bad …”

Thinking about the terrible thing made him antsy, yet the clarity forming on his alpha’s face eased some of the burdens. Sharing knowledge was always a treat if it meant communicating better.

His finger then trailed down to a small brown creature, purposefully looking to him for an answer. He furrowed his eyebrows. “Erm …”

The word wasn’t coming, looking back to a small signature and the piece’s name at the bottom. Many words he could make out, but some were forever foggy, just like his conscious. His concentration felt halved, a growing embarrassment that he couldn’t tell his alpha what this was.

“Da … d-daawgg…”

He glanced up to his alpha, noticing the clarity in his eye as he pushed his heavy finger onto the page. His tongue poked out beyond his teeth. “Daaawgg …”

Quickly staring back at the page, he eyed the little brown creature some more until something clicked. “Oh! Dog!”

Of course, that’s what it was. The little legs and ears should have been a dead giveaway. Foolishness should have come over him, but all he felt was a sense of wonder.

Did he admire the pieces too?

A huff escaped through his alpha’s mouth, turning to him with an almost innocent smile. “Dawwg …”

He lightly chuckled, shaking his head. “Dooog. Dog.”

“D-daaaawg …”

Another little laugh, holding the block closer to his chest as his alpha moved his hand to pet his long hair. It was natural for him to lean into it, accepting his alpha’s praise that was becoming a form of addiction in itself. His alpha’s smile was so relaxed and loving, letting himself close his eyes and push lightly onto his chest. “G-g … goooood …”

He was good, wasn’t he? Being the good omega he should be. Excitement buzzed through his skull at all the wonderful pictures they could share together, wanting nothing more or less.

Their time was cut short when a quick bark drew their attention to one of the standing shelves where their beta crouched. His tail swished eagerly, grinning sadistically at the two. He cupped his block tightly to his chest, knowing he would go for it again when his beta’s head perked, fingers brushing the wood while his head turned back. His tail froze and so did their alpha, tongue stiff and unmoving.

Footsteps.

With a short growl, their beta leaped down between the stacks, already on the prowl as their alpha’s heavy footsteps followed. He turned back to him as a flurry of panic took hold in his chest.

The killing always unnerved him.

With several shakes, their alpha let out a huff and continued after their beta. They would take care of it. Share a meal perhaps and call him over when it was over.

Until then he felt unsafe on the ground, letting out light whimpers as he scanned the surrounding area. It felt too open, taking to staring up at the towering ceiling and the circular floors above them. More toppled shelves and disarray awaited; drawn to the silent chaos.

Grasping the block in between his teeth, his fingers brushed the wall and braced his weight as he pulled himself up. His feet pushed off as though he were crawling on the floor, able to scale the wall and ceiling with relative ease. Even when his hair hung above his head and his open shirt fell off his back he continued to crawl as though it were nothing unusual. The second floor wasn’t high enough to his liking, using some shelves to gain higher ground until he could leap up and stick to the ceiling.

Higher, higher. Just enough to slink away. Four limbs went to two to guide him when he felt less anxious at the top, slinking off between tall shelves. He even found a small corner where he could sit without having to worry about poking himself on any blocks, nestling down and removing his block from his teeth. He mindlessly flipped to a new page, running his fingers down the page with the falling tears from grey skies.

Safe.

The shuffling of blocks made him snap his own closed, ears twitching with wide eyes. Another shuffle going towards the right, followed by the creaking of wood.

A few more whimpers escaped closed lips, anxiety rising. But he didn’t let the emotions consume him as he stood back up, wondering if perhaps it was another infected. Just a mindless sound from a mindless soul.

Curiosity ate at him until his legs walked, clutching his block tightly in hand as his one thing to keep him calm. Several blocks were uselessly brushed back by his shuffling feet, placing his right hand on every shelf he passed.

“H-Hello?” He stopped at the call, hunching his back and gripping a shelf that leaned heavily on a much larger one. Light flittered up to the wall ahead, spooking him to stumble back and spill several blocks on the ground.

His anxiety spiked, turning and clamping down on his block as his fingers hoisted him up the wall. The light sped down just as he made it to the ceiling and crouched low, staying as still as possible.

A blackish being carried the dreaded light while holding a long stick in the other, turning his head side to side. The solid outline of the creature with simple features interested him, lifting the tiniest bit off the ceiling as it continued to scan the shelves.

This creature … he’d seen it before …

The sudden gunshots and wailing from below made him stare down, drawing whimpers from his throat. His mates were doing their jobs, hoping the screams would stop.

The light was bright and hideous as he was bathed in it, with the creature staring right at him with wide eyes. He shut his own, curling up as he let out a blood-curdling scream that echoed through the entire building. A desperate plea for help.

Crashing onto several blocks, he lunged at the creature who tried backing away; stick rattling as it struck the ground while it struck the back wall. His eyes were blurry with tears, wrenching the light away with a screech as though it burned his hand. The light had to die, fear driving him to snuff out the very thing that brought it into his existence.

Hand raised back with sharp nails, he nearly pierced his heart when it choked out a cry. “L-Liam! Liam!! No! Stop!”

His hand unclenched the creature, mind ringing and deafening any other thoughts into obscurity.

Liam.

_Liam._

It was a name he’d forgotten; one that evoked another, entirely new sense of fear through his skull.

He staggered back while holding his throbbing head, _knowing_ why this creature was familiar. Why it knew his name. But the thoughts were jumbled and messy, continuing to whimper and cry at the mental blocks.

When he looked back up it was to the long stick in both of its hands, fear plaguing its own eyes. “St-stay back!”

He hunched closer to the ground, staring up with his own sense of fear that pooled into bitter sadness. Unanswered tears fell down his face as the features of the creature burned into his brain.

“O… O-Oz…” It weighed heavier on his tongue than anything he’d ever muttered, clarity forming in his features. The same came to Oz, stick falling from his grasp to again rattle and make him flinch.

“Y-you …” He started, arms dropping as several small growths formed on his shoulders. He didn’t understand what they were as they held their mouths. “Talked …”

More steps were taken back as Oz fell to his knees, watching fresh tears running down his face in streams. A huge sob racked his shoulders, understanding the overwhelming control sadness had. “You remember … oh my god …”

He didn’t like the way he sobbed, too afraid to come any closer with that dreaded stick and evil light nearby. He didn’t trust this Oz even if his fear had quelled enough to not throw him into a blind rage. The little blobs patted Oz’s skin with quiet chatter.

“Wh-what happened to you?” Oz’s question was innocent, only wanting an answer he couldn’t give.

His eyebrows furrowed, shaking his head at the oddity of it. Nothing was wrong, nothing happened, save for just finding him.

“Vicky’s been worried sick. We’ve all been!” Oz’s tone was turning hysterical, causing his muscles to bunch as he crouched lower. “I-I guess this is where you’ve been … a-are you … _there_?”

More confusing questions with even more confusing terminology. This ‘Vicky’ sounded familiar too, unable to place an item to it aside from a foggy pale green image in his mind. He groaned as he tugged on his hair trying to remember. “Dunno … dunno …”

It only worsened the pain in Oz’s eyes, voice going quiet. “You really are infected.”

That word struck a match, nodding his head. “W-Witch … Om-omega …”

He seemed to understand those words, leaning back with confusion surfacing. “Omega? Is … that your rank?”

He nodded feebly, watching as the despair clouded the creature’s eyes. A hand brushed over them, shaking his head. “I was right … I knew it! We’re all going to become infected like you! Even you!” A hiccup took away part of his fire as it dissipated into misery. “E-even you became one of them! I-is it worth it at all to even try?”

The troubles plaguing Oz felt so similar to his own, suddenly snatching his arm and yanking it forward. Oz faltered but didn’t pull back, merely fixated as he opened his mouth, fangs mixed with saliva and blood suddenly itching.

He had found his alpha, his beta … perhaps they could take on this newest member. The bite brought happiness and he wanted to be its deliverer.

Fangs sank into the flesh of the creature who cried out in pain, but a sense of pleasure wafted through his mind. It felt right to bite others, removing his fangs to admire his wounds. Yet just as he created them they sank back into the skin, shifting until the wound was completely gone.

“I’ve … been bitten more times than I’d like to count.” His eyebrows knitted with a confused look even when the creature spoke and took his arm away. A bittersweet smile was in his eyes. “Guess the green flu doesn’t like emotions … some days I wish it did …”

He still didn’t understand why his bite failed, frustration growing when a loud snarl snuffed it out. Oz jumped to his feet as his beta landed in front of him, body curled towards him as his hands and feet caught fire to all surrounding blocks as well as the wooden floorboards.

The growl was more than possessive without a hint of playfulness that always came with his hunt. His fingers were too open to grasp his tail as he leaped through the growing flames towards Oz.

Oz scrambled with a loud scream as their hunter’s claws snagged into the wall upon missing his fleshy target. He ripped down curls of wood as he chased after the creature, causing him to rise and spin around. He had to stop their beta, running away from the fire and out of the stacks down the end of one hall. Blocks tumbled and many fell through the gaps in the rails, fluttering to their deaths at the bottom.

He clutched his block still tightly to his chest, panting and shouting. “No! Beta, stop! _No_!”

A shelf several yards away toppled, with Oz scampering out as it domino-effected the rest down the floor. Their hunter leaped onto the top of one, drool dribbling down his chin as his claws were poised and up.

“Oh god, oh fuck!” Oz was running straight toward him but was cut off by the massive zombie that ran out from another stack. His own alpha tackled into the poor creature, pinning his arms down as his tongue wrapped around his neck tightly and yanked.

Oz’s hands wrapped around the slimy appendage as his feet quaked and legs kicked for air. “B-Brian! N-no!”

“Alpha!” He flew over to his shoulder and fiercely pulled back, feeling on the verge of tears with all the senseless violence. “No no! Stop, s- _stop_!”

Confused, his alpha loosened his grip on Oz to stare up at him quizzically with an odd groan. They were programmed to kill, yet he tried his hardest to override that command with a few tears.

A hard shove into his alpha had him toppling on top of him, having to watch Oz scramble to his feet and run off. From the fallen stacks exploded their fiery beta, smashing into him as his clothes blazed with life and his back hitting upon the guardrail.

A deafening snap and the guardrail lurched, depositing both off the edge and plummeting straight down.

Loud, wailing cries erupted from his throat, grabbing his head so hard that his nails dug into his skin, feeling ten burning pricks. A fresh load of tears drowned his eyesight, shutting his eyes and unable to open them. All he felt was his alpha off of him and his back pressed against his chest. He instinctively clung and buried his head into his shirt, letting the fabric catch his tears. His mad scramble did nothing to calm him, feeling as though everything was his fault.

Why hadn’t his bite worked? Surely, he was a bad omega.

Only when they reached the bottom did he manage to lift his head and paw away the tears. Oz was nowhere to be found while their beta sprawled on the broken remains of a shelf. His chest heaved but his eyes wouldn’t open even after their alpha stumbled forward and violently shook him.

His fault.

“Oz!” A feminine voice shouted from above, staring up towards the ceiling as his claws dug into his alpha’s shirt. A scream was prepared in his throat just as his beta’s body was thrown over his alpha’s shoulder. He shifted his right hand to keep him situated, listening to his alpha’s hurried pants as he scrambled to exit the building.

It had all been for naught.

* * *

He didn’t deserve to rest.

Shoulders hunched, he watched over their fallen mate as he rested comfortably on a large mattress they’d managed to find. The building full of blocks was long gone, now sitting in a small room with the door shut thanks to him.

Their beta had made several groans since his slumber, easing some of the growing tension that it might have dwindled down to just the two of them. His alpha had left a while ago to hunt, leaving him alone to sit curled up with his heart-broken gaze.

He hated his fangs for failing him, wondering what he did wrong. No one was immune, sinking deeper into depressive thoughts that his beta’s downfall was because of his inferiority. If it had worked, there would be no fighting. Only togetherness in blissful happiness.

Even thinking of the intruder hurt his head; that name haunting his thoughts.

_Liam._

A pathetic whine filled the silent air as he curled up, shaking his head. No Liam. Never Liam. That creature was long dead … he would make sure of it …

Massive bangs on the door startled him into hiding only to slowly creep over at the familiar groan. He opened the door as his alpha sauntered in, dragging something large and dead behind him. It was a mixture of a humanoid with a bird, letting it flop to the ground as his attention was taken by their fallen mate.

The door silently shut behind him, moving in front of his alpha to sit at the edge of the bed with his legs pulled in. He stared intently; it was all he could do.

His alpha moaned for him but he didn’t move, tightening his hold as his misery threatened to push out another wave of tears. Then something jabbed into his arm, lifting his head to stare down at the intruding object.

A flat rectangle was held out with a pretty picture of a woman’s face with her hair extending up into black lines. He followed them to the green fingers and up the arm to his alpha, who smiled faintly and pushed it onto his arm again with a groan.

When he didn’t take it his alpha came closer, wrapping his arms around his chest and lifting him up. He lightly protested with a whine but his alpha carried him as though he were a doll to the other side where the mattress met the wall. He sat down in the middle, plopping him into his lap and setting the block into his.

He didn’t understand the implication, tilting his chin up as his wet tongue brushed over his cheek tenderly. A hand buried itself into his hair to create gentle strokes, groans forming into syllables. “G-goo-gooood …”

Surely, his alpha had gone mad. With several shakes of his head, he buried his face into his hands, voice tiny and pathetic. “No … bad … be-beta …”

A dissatisfied groan and harder pets were his answer, feeling his alpha grab his hands to pull them down into his lap. He stared up again with clear eyes, noticing the firmness in his tone along with the confirmation in his eye. “G-… gooood … g-g-gooo-od …”

Something in his chest ached, lips falling open into a drawn-out whine that turned into a sob. He turned enough to press his cheek into his alpha’s cold chest, letting his tongue continue to make a mess of his other cheek while his hair was matted down.

If that was what his alpha believed, then he had no need to doubt.

His chest pushed onto his head as his alpha’s free hand reached for the rectangle again, holding it out. This time his hands took the item, opening the first page to find more pretty pictures he had never seen.

Keeping an eye on their beta, he began again when his alpha pointed to something in the block, ever so slowly raising his timid frown into a loving smile.

Being the good omega he was.


End file.
